They Will Never Suffocate Us
by GetAGripOrYoullGetThrown
Summary: Five years after the last time they spoke, Bellamy found the dying body of his ex-lover, Clarke, in a Detroit alleyway. In an attempt to save Clarke from herself, Bellamy reignites the feelings and emotions they both buried years ago. But will their painf
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello, guys! I have taken about break of about 2 years off of writing FF, and this is my first one back. This will be an extended story, not just a one shot. Rated M for violent/sexual themes.**

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 **Bellamy**

My head pounded, worn from the long day's work. I stood up slowly from my office desk, stretching my arms high above my head and yawning simultaneously. The office was nearly silent, the only other noise coming from a keyboard across the room.

"Hey, Alex, I'm out for the night," I called over to the man who generated the repeated "click-click". We were the only two still left, being the primary managers for second shift we often had to work late. Alex glanced up at me and nodded, his brown eyes bloodshot.

"Me too, man," He said, raising up out of his seat, "It's been a long day." I nodded in agreement, and looked down to check my watch. 2:28 am. Wonderful. I dreaded the walk back to my apartment. Although it was only a few blocks, a fifteen minute walk at the most, my body was aching from the ten hour shift. Despite the screaming in my feet, I stepped onto the elevator, pressing the 1 button harshly, as if I could convey my exhaustion to the elevator. After a quick ride down, I exited the building and began in the direction of home. The apartment was almost a straight shot if I walked through the back alleys. Typically, during the day, I wouldn't have thought twice. I was slightly over six foot, and due to my many years of weight lifting, I wasn't anything less than fit. The usual back alley druggies wouldn't mess with me, and even if they did, I could take them quite easily. At night, it was different. I wasn't scared, but I tried to be sensible and use caution when navigating the Detroit streets. I could take the longer way, but that would add about five minutes to my time, and my body ached already.

Anxious to get home, I took the first left back into the alley between two tall, long buildings. There was a bar at the other end, tucked away in a corner lit by only a few yellow flood lights. I passed it quickly, rolling my eyes at the sounds of the music and people inside. I had tried to stay away from the party scene, for the most part. I haven't been in a bar or club for five years, since I was a freshman in college. The memories associated with them had been enough to keep me out for a very long time.

Once past the bar, I crossed the street and strolled casually into the next alley. This one was darker, more secluded. There were no street lamps, just two flood lights, and the moon was dimmed by the threatening rain clouds. I flipped on the flashlight on my phone, using it to light my path through the tunnel. The concrete ground was littered with trash, cigarette butts and beer bottles mostly. A few rats scurried away as the beam of light illuminated my path. Making my way down the long stretch, it seemed to come to no end. I shined my flashlight ahead, hoping to see an exit soon, but as I did I stopped dead in my tracks. Peering up ahead, I spotted the body of a woman, crumpled onto the ground, face-first. From the distance I was, she appeared still and lifeless. Battling the internalized voice telling me to turn around and just go the long way, I knew I had to check on the woman, call for an ambulance if necessary. I quickly jogged over to her, trying to quiet the caution I felt deep in the pit of my stomach. I quickly shined my flashlight around the shadows, making sure there was no one else around and that it wasn't some gang trap. After reassuring myself that we were alone, I knelt beside the woman, who was laying in a pool of blood. She was wearing a tiny dress, which at first appeared red. After a second glance, I realized that it was actually ivory, an off-white, but the dress was so drenched with her blood it had a red appearance. Quickly running the flashlight over her body, I noticed a hole on her left shoulder, near the bottom. . A gunshot wound, which most of the blood was coming from. Using one hand to try and put pressure on the hole to stop the bleeding, I took a deep breath and used the other hand to grab the wrist of the girl. I positioned my middle and index on her radial artery, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. I began to feel a sinking feeling deep in my stomach, fearing that I was too late to offer her any help. Despite the first attempt, I tried again, moving my hand from her wrist to her carotid. I waited for what felt like eternity, when eventually I felt the slightest pulse. It was incredibly weak, but it was present, and that was all the assurance I needed.

I grabbed at my phone quickly, my hand already somewhat blood-stained. Almost immediately after I pressed the call button, the 911 operator answered. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, I explained the situation and gave my location, trying to get the words out as fast as possible. As I hang up, I dropped the phone beside me and sat back, reaching my hand over the girl. I knew I needed to get her turned to try and secure the exit wound, if there was one. Being as gentle as possible, I slowly flipped her body over. Once she was settled on her back, I searched her chest and stomach for the exit wound, only to come realize there wasn't one. I cursed under my breath, feeling helpless. I looked up to the girls face, hoping for some type of indication she would be able to pull through, some reassurance that I wasn't wasting my time. As I did so, I felt my heart stop, my stomach lurch into a nauseated state, my head begin to feel light.

"Clarke…?" I whispered, my eyes wide and my face draining of color. A million emotions rushed to me at one time- fear, anger, sadness. My heart began to pound and my hands shake. It had been almost five years since I had last seen this girl, spoke to her. I remember the last time we were together, the nasty fight we had. I took a sharp breath, guilt and regret washing over me like her blood that continued to vigorously pump into my hands.

"Get out! Go! I never want to see your fucking face again. Leave, Clarke! Just go, damn it!"

And so she did. I went years without seeing her, although I often longed to. Years of regret and unsettled emotion began to bubble up inside of me, making my stomach clench even more so than before. I brushed a strand of golden blond hair out of her face, exposing a broken girl. Clarke was fighting for air through a busted lip, her eye swollen, shades of purple and blue. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. I remembered her as strong. When we parted, her spirit was fierce and her soul like fire. What had to happen for such a fighter to end up here, like this?

"Stay with me, Clarke, okay?" I whispered, taking her hand. I couldn't quite explain why I suddenly felt such a responsibility for her. Maybe it was just my nature to care for her, no matter how long it had been. Maybe it was how vividly I remembered her, remembered everything- her smile, her laugh, her lips that used to drive me mad. My breathing became almost as shallow as hers, my vision blurred by memories. The girl who betrayed me, who I intentionally avoided for the last five years, lay broken in an alley way, and I was the one to find her. This couldn't really be happening, right?

My reminiscing was quickly disrupted by the sound of sirens and an ambulance slamming on its breaks in front of the alley. I breathed a sigh of relief, waving my arm in the air to try and alert the paramedics quicker. In the state she was in, I knew time was precious. I watched intently as they hurriedly unloaded the stretcher, quickly bringing it down through the alley.

"Move, move, move!" One of the paramedics, a man looking to be in his early forties, barked at me, pushing me back and taking my place at her side. I abruptly stood, backing away from them. I was still in shock and my head still hurt like a bitch. I watched as they worked, strapping Clarke onto the stretcher while also taking vitals and starting an IV. They attempted to secure the wound and stop the bleeding. I felt slightly encouraged that maybe I had done the right thing. Maybe she would pull through this.

"She needs blood, now. Let's get her in." The other paramedic said, an African-American man who appeared to be younger than the woman. He spoke with a powerful voice, but somehow seemed smaller than he actually was. The two loaded Clarke into the back with speed. The woman remained with her, while the man hopped out and went to secure the doors.

"Wait," I called, grabbing my phone from the asphalt and running up to them. "I want to go, too."

"Do you know this girl?" The man asked, seeming confused and now somewhat annoyed that I was wasting time. I nodded in response, taking a deep breath, praying to some god that they would allow me to come. The man seemed unsure, not speaking.

"I'm an," I paused, looking for the right word, "old friend." The man nodded, walking around to the cab and opening the door.

"Hurry and get in."

I jumped quickly into the passenger side, my heart racing. It was a very short distance to the trauma center, which everyone was thankful for. During the ride, the paramedic asked me basic information. Her name, medical history, age. Once we arrived, I was instructed to wait outside in the waiting area. Having nothing to do but stir in my own thoughts, I dialed Octavia's number. Her and Clarke used to be close friends, maybe they still are. After the argument I requested that Octavia not even mention her name around me.

"Hello?" My little sister's voice echoed into the phone. She sounded like she had been sleeping, which she probably had. I had forgotten what time it was.

"Hey, O," I said with relief, calming for the first time since I found her.

"Bell? What's wrong? It's after three in the morning."

"Do you still talk to Clarke?" I questioned, completely skipping over hers. I didn't mean to be rude, but I honestly didn't know how to answer it. I didn't know what was wrong, really, other than I shouldn't be so worried over a girl who hasn't been there, a girl who I shoved out of my life. Or rather, who shoved me out of her's.

"Wha… why? It's been how many years, Bellamy? But, no. Not anymore," Octavia sounded confused. She spoke slowly, and I heard her yawn through her words. Guilt panged at my stomach for waking her, but I knew that this was more important than her sleep.

"She got shot." I replied, quite bluntly.

"What? How do you know?"

"I'm at the hospital," I explained, sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. It was extremely uncomfortable and poked at my back sharply. "I found her."

"Oh my God," Octavia exclaimed, sounding much more awake than before. I heard Lincoln mutter something indecipherable in the background, followed by Octavia shushing him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, O. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know how to get in touch with her mom would you?" I asked, hoping she knew the answer. I planned only to stay until someone who she was close to could come. I wasn't sure why I was staying at all, to be honest, but I felt like it was my duty to. I wasn't going to abandon her like before.

"Bell, her mom's dead. She died last year, that's part of why we don't talk anymore. She doesn't have any living family left, but she did have a boyfriend."

"Well damn," I said, sighing. Clarke's dad had died when she was little, and Abby and she used to be very close. Abby never like me or Octavia. She said she thought we were reckless and irresponsible. I always thought it was because we weren't rich. She never liked Clarke's friends that were less well off. "Do you know how to get in touch with her boyfriend?"

"No. But, why are you still at the hospital? I thought both of you had moved on from the ab-"

"Don't say it." I snapped at her, cutting her off. I didn't need a reminder of what happened. Partly because even after all these years, it still hurt. Partially because I didn't want to get angry and leave her here alone.

"Obviously you haven't moved on," Octavia groaned. I could picture her rolling her eyes. "Look, Bell, she has changed a lot since you last knew her. Her boyfriend… well, he's trouble, okay? So don't get involved with her. She's not the sweet girl you used to know. I'd advise you to just leave now."

"Sure, I…I've got to go," I hung up the phone and sucked in a deep breath, still annoyed at Octavia for the earlier comment and dismissing her previous one. Clarke wasn't ever really sweet to me. She wasn't mean, but she was independent and free-willed. She didn't show affection often. Maybe that was just because we were never really together. She was a close friend, and something much more than that near the end. I don't believe that she could be as bad as Octavia says. Everyone changes. It's been years. Last I heard, Clarke was enrolled in an amazing Pre-Med program. I'm sure the demand of that changes things.

I waited for what seemed like eternity, trying to stay out of my head. The longer I waited and the more I tried, the more my emotions conflicted. I felt angry, then sad, then worried, then just tired. I finally closed my eyes, hoping to get some sleep before I was abruptly stirred.

"Sir!" I turned around, to see a short, chubby man in a white lab coat walking towards me. "Are you here with Clarke Griffin?" He asked. I replied with a nod as he continued speaking, "I'm Dr. Pausi. Would you mind stepping back here with me?" I followed him through the large, swinging doors and into a plain, white-walled room. In the room there was a counter full of medical supplies and a bed, in which Clarke laid, still unconscious. I glanced up at the monitors and smiled slightly. She seemed stable, her heart rate beeped rhythmically on the machine, drawing lines as it went. I looked to her left where an IV bag full of blood dripped into her arm.

"She's stable," Dr. Pausi said, noticing me looking at the screens. "She's lucky. She's expected to make a recovery, but she lost about 42% of the blood in her body. Typically, we put the upper limit at 40%. How she stabilized so fast is beyond our comprehension. After examining the x-rays and imaging, we have decided that the best option would be to leave the bullet in. It's about an inch and a half away from her heart. Our team feels as if removing it would be more dangerous than to leave it as is," He explained. I nodded, glancing over at Clarke. She seemed peaceful. Dr. Pausi drew my attention back as he spoke up again. "But, ahem, something came up in the routine screening. Were you aware that Ms. Griffin was using illegal substances?"

"Um, No," I shook my head, glancing at her once again. I was shocked. Clarke was never really a risk taker. She drank a few times, but who didn't? The idea of her being on illegal drugs was almost too foreign for comprehension. That wasn't her. It never was. Maybe Octavia was right about things changing. The Clarke I knew never would have done that.

"PCP to be exact," The doctor explained, pulling me back to reality once again. "She may or may not have withdrawal symptoms, depending on how long she has been using. Due to her condition, I believe that she will need to stay about a week. Do you have contact with any family?"

"She doesn't have any left, to my knowledge," I said, shaking my head, feeling a bit of sorrow for her.

"Okay. We will have someone soon move her to a regular room. I'll let you think about it." With that he walked out, shutting the door behind him. His question left me confused. Think about what? I didn't know I had anything to think about. Clarke wasn't my responsibility. I was just there because… well, I still hadn't decided why I was there. I sat down in the chair beside the hospital bed. I looked at her arm, several pin-point pricks lined her skins surface. I shook my head in disproval.

"What are you doing to yourself, Clarke?" I whispered, brushing the hair out of her face once again. As I did so, her face turned towards me. I jumped back, not anticipating her movement. My skin flushed and my heart began pumping hard as I saw Clarke's eyes flutter for a few seconds, then open. They were a familiar soft grey, but had a tired, worn appearance. She blinked a few times, her face twisting in confusion. With a hoarse, quiet voice, she spoke up.

"Bellamy?"

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 **AN: Thanks for reading the first chapter! I hope to have it updated soon.**

 **PS; Reviews make my day (and also make me update faster).**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This is going to be a very short chapter, more or less to just get an idea of Clarke and fill in some before a lengthy chapter three. I apologize in advance.**

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 **Clarke**

"Bellamy?" I asked, crinkling my forehead in confusion. I looked around the room. Four white walls, some medical equipment. A hospital. How did I manage to end up in a hospital, with Bellamy Blake at my side, no less? I tried to sit up some, and as I did so I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my back. I let out a gasp, not expecting the pain, and squeezed the edge of the bed to release some of the tension. Oh, that's how I got here. Someone shot me. I felt out of body and emotional, mostly angry and confused. The feeling was familiar, however. PCP. My favorite. If I had this much pain on the PCP, I couldn't wait to feel how bad it was once it wore off.

"Easy, Clarke. You don't need to move too much," Bellamy said in a calming voice, putting his hand out to help if I needed it. But I didn't need it. Not from him, anyway. Seeing him, I felt anger brewing in me. It didn't make any sense for him to be here. I didn't need him. I hadn't needed him for years. Why did he think I needed him here all of a sudden? And how did I get here?

"Why are you here?" I asked slowly. My voice sounded cold, accusing. I tried to replay what had happened in my head, figure out where Bellamy played into the picture. I couldn't remember seeing him for what, three or four years? No, five, actually. Since I was in college. Maybe he was the one who shot me. I knew it wasn't him though, I remember the guy. He was tall, scrawny, much like all of the other men we do business with. I remember him and Murphy arguing over something, drugs, I think. Then he threatened me, and Murphy told him to do it. I know Murphy didn't think he actually would, or else he wouldn't have said it. He protects his girls, especially me. Bellamy still sat, staring at me. His eyes met mine for just a moment. My stomach fluttered. Or clenched. I wasn't sure which.

"I'm the one who found you," Bellamy explained, sitting up. His voice became harsher, less soft. "I figured you needed someone here that you knew when you woke up."

"I don't know you, not anymore," I replied, honestly. My words were delayed, slurred, effected by the PCP. I could feel it wearing off though. Bellamy didn't say anything. He just looked down at his hands, taking a deep breath. He used to do that before, too. He did it when he was frustrated or annoyed. I noticed he hadn't changed much at all, really. Same dark brown hair, that fell into beautiful curls around his face. Same color skin. Same everything. I made a mental note to stop thinking about him. I hated him. I didn't know why, but at that moment it made sense. "Can I have my phone?"

"I don't have it," He said, reaching into his pocket and handing me a black S5. "But you can use mine."

"Thanks," I said, a little softer this time. I avoided eye contact. I was still out of it, I could tell. My emotions were all over the place. Maybe it was the PCP still, or all the meds the IV had me hooked up to. Either way, I dialed Murphy's number, anxious to hear his voice. I missed him. Every second I wasn't with him I longed for him. He was my constant. He was better than Bellamy. He was my post-Bellamy. Except, Murphy never broke me like Bellamy.

"Hello?" Murphy picked up. He sounded sober, which was surprising. I smiled, even though he couldn't see it.

"Hey, baby," I replied, still slurring my words, my heart skipping a beat at hearing his voice. I stared down at my IV, fiddling with the cord, debating on ripping it out. Whatever they had me hooked to was messing with my high, and I didn't like it.

"Clarke?!" Murphy sounded surprised. "How are you… I thought you were dead!"

"Me too, but I'm not. Look, could you come get me?" I asked, somewhat disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm. He just found out his girlfriend wasn't dead, and he sounds more upset than happy. Before Murphy has a chance to respond, Bellamy butts in.

"Clarke, you can't go for another week, you're not healthy enough," Bellamy said. I knit my brows at him.

"What?" I asked.

"You still have the bullet in. You got shot less than six hours ago. You aren't healthy enough to go home. You can't even move."

I ignored him, going back to the phone, where Murphy began talking again.

"Look, Clarke. I don't think you coming back home with me is a very good idea right now, or anytime soon. You're hurt. You're not healthy enough for this," Murphy explained. I felt my stomach clench at his words. He couldn't possibly be serious.

"Murphy, don't do this. I love you, isn't that enough? I can still work. I promise." I pleaded, though barely. I knew nothing was going to change his mind, though.

"Call me when you're healthy enough, okay?" He said, completely skipping over my question.

"Where am I supposed to go?" I asked, swallowing and noticing how dry my throat was. I began to feel the intense anger building up again.

"I don't know, Clarke. It's not my decision." With that statement, Murphy hung up the phone. I looked down, bringing the phone down from my ear and taking a deep breath. I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. I'm not sure why. Was I sad or angry? Or both?

"Hey, are you okay?" Bellamy said, reaching out and touching my arm. I instinctively jerked away, letting out a cry of pain as I did so. Stupid gunshot wound. Stupid Murphy. Stupid Bellamy. "Can you tell me what happened? Who shot you?"

"Too many questions, it doesn't matter," I muttered, glancing at him. When I did I met his eyes. They were filled with worry. I took a deep breath, not letting myself get lost in them like I used to. I had Murphy now. I didn't need Bellamy. He's the reason I'm like this. He's the one who turned on me.

"Was it your boyfriend?" Bellamy asked more sternly.

"What? Of course not!" I replied, looking at him like he was insane. "He didn't mean for me to get hurt, he just didn't know how to help."

"Wait, he knew you got shot?" Bellamy asked, sitting forward some more, confusion plastered on his face. I shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess, he was there."

"And he just left you?!" Bellamy said, louder and even more sternly then before. He stood up quickly, making me flinch and sending a sharp shooting pain through my back. I ripped the IV out as he did so, knowing the medicine they had me on was somehow blocking the drug effect. I needed to get rid of the pain. I had to. Bellamy must have saw my pained expression, as he relaxed and said more softly, "Clarke, ripping your IV out isn't okay. And neither is leaving you."

"You did the same thing," I said. Even before I said it, I realized how childish it sounded. It had been five years. I'm sure Bellamy was over it. He probably didn't even remember the fight. It was a stupid fight. It never should have happened. I knew I should've just been honest with him and told him about the baby. Maybe it would've changed things.

"I didn't leave you to-"

But I didn't listen to the rest of his sentence. I rapidly began to feel light-headed, my vision began to go in and out.

"Clarke!?"

I felt Bellamy turn me on my side quickly as I shakily sucked in a deep breath. This wasn't normal. I tried to push Bellamy off, but I couldn't move. I heard one last thing, almost indecipherable.

"Can someone help? She's seizing!"

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 **AN: I'll be honest, this was a weak chapter. But I feel like it was necessary. Will try to have chapter three up soon, and I promise it will be better.**

 **Reviews make my day, even on this POC.**

 **ALSO- Would y'all please tell me if you would prefer shorter chapters updated more often, or longer chapters updated less often?**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Warning- this is going to be a very long chapter. I mean, extremely long.**

 **Bellamy**

"Octavia, it's not like that, okay?" I said sternly into the phone, pacing the hospital hallway.

"Please explain to me how it isn't like that! Bellamy, you don't have to be the good guy here. She doesn't even deserve a good guy. She's a druggie," Octavia snapped back. Her voice was hard and demanding. I could tell she was pissed, but I tried not to let it bother me.

"Yeah, she is a druggie, which is exactly why she needs help. She's been going through withdrawals, O. She had a seizure and… and she can't think straight and-"

"And it's not your problem," Octavia interrupted harshly. "Bellamy, use some logic here. People tried to help mom, didn't they? You saw where that led them. I don't even understand why you're so concerned about _her_. Of all people- her. Do you remember what she did?"

"Of course I remember," I said, taking a deep breath, trying to calm myself. How could I forget? Although I knew Octavia was right, I couldn't bring myself to abandon her. Not yet, anyway. It had been five days so far. The third day was the worst. She was in pain. She would be completely coherent and then not know who I was or what had happened. Yesterday she had improved. Today she acted somewhat normal. Rude, but normal. "Look, she has no one else. I can't just leave her."

"She did that to herself."

"Fine, O. I'll stay with her until she's discharged. And then after that, she'll have to figure it out," I said, trying to settle somewhat of a compromise to get her off my back.

"Fine. But Bellamy?"

"Yeah?"

"Please be careful this time."

"I will," I told her, hanging up the phone. I knew what she meant, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. Octavia was right, after all. There wasn't a rationale in this world for me staying with her. I'm not even sure that Clarke wants me here. One minute she screams at me to go, and as I get my things she grabs my hand and asks me not to leave. I don't think she really wants _me_ here. I think she just doesn't want to be alone. But that's okay, because I'm not sure I want to be there for her. I'm not ready to forgive her. But I am sure I don't want her to be lonely. I would want someone to stay with me.

I turned and walked back into the fourth level room. Clarke looked up at me, her face emotionless.

"You know you don't have to stay?" She asked for the tenth time, her eyes searching me up and down.

"I know, but do you want me to?" I asked back, stepping closer. Clarke just shrugged.

"I want Murphy to," She explained, her eyes meeting mine. I pursed my lips, sitting in the chair positioned by her bed.

"I know," I said, nodding. "But he's not here. So it's me or nothing."

"Well you've already sat down," She whispered, turning her attention back to the TV mounted on the wall in front of her bed. I smiled slightly, sitting back in the chair. We haven't mentioned the fight to each other. The little we have spoken, she's been out of it. At first it was the PCP. Now it's primarily the morphine. Some words she spoke with venom, others were softer and more welcoming. I wondered if her emotions were as chaotic as mine. If maybe she was having a hard time sorting through her thoughts. It was unlikely though. She'd obviously moved on. She probably thought nothing of it, that it was a stupid teenage thing. I looked up at her, staring intently at the TV.

"How are you feeling?" I eventually asked, clenching my hands as I did so.

"Sober," Clarke responded with a small laugh. After seeing my slight look of disdain, she added, "But good. I'm okay."

"You're lucky," I said, and she nodded. As she did so, a nurse walked in, pulling a big cart with her. She was one of the normal ones, 5'3 with blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Clarke's doctor followed her in.

"Ms. Griffin," Dr. Pausi said, walking over to her bedside. "I'm just making my morning rounds. How are you feeling?"

"Okay," Clarke answered, not meeting him in the eye.

"Do you mind if I take a look at the wound to see how it's healing?" Dr. Pausi asked, setting his clipboard on the cart next to the nurse. Clarke nodded, gripping the bed to sit up some. I saw a flinch of pain cross her face as she adjusted some. Dr. Pausi looked over at me before he continued. "Do you need to step out?"

"No," Clarke answered before I had a chance to. "He's okay,"

I looked at her in confusion, not understanding why she wanted me to stay. Typically, I was already gone when the doctors made their nightly rounds. I was at work, or at home getting ready to go to work. It was my day off, however. Instead of enjoying myself, I came to the hospital. At Dr. Pausi's request, Clarke turned in the bed, using the rails to help her stand. Once she was stabilized, the pained expression on her face disappeared. The doctor separated her hospital gown, exposing the wound and her back. I tried to look away, but caught a glimpse of her back as I did so. There was gauze covering the wound, but the rest of her back had cuts and bruised welps.

"Is that from the gunshot?" I asked, already knowing the answer. There was no way that the shot caused that. The bruises varied in color and size, as did the welps.

"No," Dr. Pausi said, looking at Clarke as he said so. "Clarke, you can be honest with us."

"It doesn't matter," Clarke said sternly, shooting me a harsh look. Her lip was healed, and the dark blue that had surrounded her eye had receded and turned yellow. By her expression, I could tell she was angry at me for mentioning it.

"Well, the wound is healed as expected. There is no infection. I think you may be able to go home tomorrow," He said, closing her gown. She nodded, frowning at his words. Dr. Pausi looked at me and then back down at Clarke. "I will come by tomorrow and certify that everything is ready for discharge. I would suggest taking a walk to see how far you can get." With that, Dr. Pausi and the nurse left, shutting the room door behind them. As soon as I heard the click of the door shutting, I leaned forward.

"What happened?" I said, more sternly than before. It was obvious she was hiding something from everyone.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter," Clarke answered calmly, looking down, still gripping the bed posts.

"It does," I responded quickly, just as stern as before. "Who did that to you? Was it Murphy?"

"No! I mean… look, it's none of your business, Bellamy, I can take care of myself," Clarke said, her voice more hard this time. She looked up at me, taking a deep breath.

"You can barely stand, Clarke, look at you! You need someone."

"Maybe I do," Clarke said. "But it's not you. I haven't needed you for five years, okay? I did fine on my own. I didn't need you then, and I don't need you now!" She hissed, the attitude coming back, although she had a point.

"Then I'll leave," I said quietly, backing away from her. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my temper at bay. I didn't need her attitude. I didn't even need to be here. I grabbed my phone out of the chair, tucking it in my pocket and turning towards the door.

"Wait," I heard Clarke whisper behind me. I turned around, frowning, my eyes piercing her. "I don't need you, but I do need someone. And right now, you're the only someone I have."

Her voice was small, quiet, weak. So different than how she used to speak. As I turned around to face her, I saw her tiny body still grasping onto the bed. Her eyes were distant, as if they were looking off into another world. All of a sudden, I felt the anger in me subside and be replaced with something entirely different. Clarke was vulnerable. She was so skinny, I wondered when the last time she had a good meal was. I walked back over to her, towering over her, about a foot away.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go for a walk."

 **The Next Day**

I awoke in my bed at 9:30, to the sound of my phone buzzing. I sat up, wiping my eyes, grabbing my phone. Octavia had texted me.

 _Are you home for good yet?_

I rolled my eyes, jerking the blankets off of me. I didn't understand why it mattered so much to her. I knew that Clarke and she had a falling out, and I assumed it was just because of the drugs. Normally Octavia wasn't so involved in my life, and it made no sense to me why she was suddenly concerned. I didn't text her back. Instead, I stood up and walked to the bathroom. I quickly showered and got dressed, choosing to skip over breakfast. I wasn't all that hungry, especially in the mornings. I remembered today, how Clarke was supposed to be discharged. She seemed well yesterday. We went for a walk, although an incredibly silent one. I was beside her, to offer support when needed. She often had to take breaks, about every five minutes or so, but she was growing stronger. We walked around the hospital and outside. After a good thirty minutes, I could tell she was in pain. After coming back to her room, I had headed home.

I now found myself grabbing my keys off the counter. The hospital was a much farther walk than the office, so I chose to drive rather than walk. I locked the apartment door and walked downstairs to the main lobby. I waved to the lady walking her dog, and slipped into my black 2010 GT Mustang. I had saved for it for years, owning one had always been a dream of mine. When I got hired on as a manager/editor at the Detroit Times, I finally brought in enough to get one. I turned the ignition, smiling as the engine purred to life. Putting her in drive, I pulled out and drove quickly down the streets, making my way to the hospital. I drove into the parking garage, locking the doors and heading inside. I nodded towards the lady at the front desk. She smiled politely, her eyes quickly looking back down at the paperwork on her desk. I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, looking out the glass back and over the hospital lobby. Once we reached the level, I walked quickly to Clarke's room. The door was already open, so I just walked in. Clarke was sitting up in the chair beside her bed. She kept staring down at some papers, not looking up.

"Hey," I said, stepping towards her. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I get to leave today," Clarke said quietly, looking up at me for a second, but not meeting my eye. She sighed, laying the papers on the bedside table. I could tell something was wrong.

"Is someone coming to pick you up?" I asked, shoving my hands in my pockets and leaning up against the wall. Clarke looked at me with a half smile.

"No, I'm just going to walk," She said. At first I thought she was joking, then I realized she was being serious.

"To where?" I asked, looking her up and down. I realized for the first time that she didn't have any clothes with her. She dress she had was ruined, probably cut off and thrown away the first night. Clarke could barely make it around the floor, much less walk home.

"I know some places," Clarke responded. "The nurse should be here soon to prep me for leaving."

"Would you at least let me drive you?" I asked, taking my hands out of my pockets and walking over to the bed. I sat down at the foot end, the farthest away I could sit. We still weren't comfortable with each other yet.

"You've already done enough."

"I don't mind," I insisted, meeting her eye. As soon as I did, she looked away, taking a deep breath.

"I guess it's okay, then," Clarke said, even more quietly. I nodded, glancing at the papers Clarke had laid down. As I did, the nurse walked in, distracting me. It was a different nurse. She was taller, thinner than all of the others. Her hair was bright red, piled in a messy bun on the top of her head. She looked young, perhaps younger than I was. She smiled, her teeth perfectly white and straight.

"Hello, Ms. Griffin," The nurse said in an upbeat voice. "I'm Katy, I'm going to be taking care of your discharge today. I see they've already brought you the billing papers and discharge instructions. Is your boyfriend going to be taking you home today?"

"He's not my boyfriend, but yes," Clarke answered quickly, her voice louder than before. I chuckled quietly, looking at the nurse. A slight look of embarrassment crossed her face, making my smile even bigger.

"Oh, my apologies. Well if you're ready to go I can help you get changed and take you down," Katy said, her smile not faltering. She sat her clipboard down on the counter and walked over to where we were. I quickly stood up and moved out of her way.

"Um- I was actually wondering if I could just keep this?" Clarke asked, gesturing down to her hospital gown. She kept her head down and spoke slowly, as if she was embarrassed. Katy glanced up at me with a confused look.

"I-I guess so," Katy said, shrugging. Clarke nodded and stood up. Katy helped her out into the hall, where a wheel chair awaited us.

"Oh, I can walk," Clarke said, backing away from the wheel chair.

"It's just policy, Ms. Griffin," Katy insisted, turning the wheel chair towards Clarke. Clarke sighed, shooting me a dirty look. I rolled my eyes, cracking a half smile. She could be so dramatic. Katy helped to lower her into the chair, then took off the chair breaks. She rolled Clarke to the elevator, then out to where I had parked. I unlocked the door as we approached, the tail-lights flickering in response.

"That's yours?" Clarke whispered, a hint of disbelief in her voice. I laughed and nodded.

"Not too bad, huh?"

"Better than Berta," Clarke said with a laugh. My breath caught in my throat. I was surprised she even remembered the car, much less what we used to call it. Berta was my first car, a 1990 Chevy Lumina. As a sixteen year old, I paid a whole $850 cash, and can't count how much I spent fixing her every two weeks when she broke. I drove Berta up until I bought my Mustang. I had her scraped the day after. She was iconic for high-school me. I was the first of my friends to have a car. O and Clarke used to have me drive them around. She was the place where Clarke and I-

"Bellamy?" Clarke said, interrupting my train of thought. "You okay?"

I nodded, opening the passenger door for them. I put my arm out to help Clarke, but of course she ignored me and stood up by herself, using the door for stability. She sunk into the black leather seat and looked up at me. I shut the door and turned towards Katy. She backed away from the car and pulled a bag out of her scrub pocket, handing it to me.

"This is Clarke's medicine. It's Oxycodone and antibiotics. I didn't want to give it to her because of her history," Katy explained. "The directions are written on the bottle."

I nodded and thanked her, tucking the bag in my pocket. I walked to the driver side door and slipped in. Clarke watched as I did so.

"Where to?" I asked, putting the car in reverse. Clarke shrugged.

"I can just give you directions," She said, looking out the window. "Just head towards downtown."

I did as she said, trying to drive carefully. I knew the bumps and jerking motions would irritate the bullet wound. I accelerated slowly and was careful to slow down in plenty of time. I could hear Clarke growing anxious to reach our destination.

"Turn up by Michael's," Clarke instructed as we began to enter into downtown. I flipped on my blinker, looking both ways before I turned down the side street. As we travelled down the street, we passed over one of the bridges.

"Pull to the side over here," Clarke said, pointing to a gravel side on the road. I looked at her in confusion, but did as she said. Once I had stopped, she began to take off her seatbelt.

"Woah, what are you doing?" I asked, putting my hand over hers to stop her. She immediately jumped back at my touch.

"I'm getting out?"

"Here? Where are you going to go?" I asked, looking at her, sitting in the hospital gown, looking even smaller than before. I realized that I hadn't seen her eat at all during the hospital stay.

"I'll find somewhere," Clarke said, finishing unbuckling her seatbelt. She put her hand out as if expecting something.

"Clarke, I'm not leaving you here. You aren't healthy enough to walk anywhere, you're in a hospital gown for goodness sake, and you have nothing," I pointed out, locking the doors.

"Then what would you like for me to do? I don't exactly have anywhere to go," Clarke argued back, unlocking the doors and grabbing the door handle, dropping her other hand.

"You can stay with me for a little bit," I said quickly, without even thinking. Clarke looked at me like I was insane.

"No, Bellamy!"

"Why not?"

"You just pointed out that I didn't have anything," Clarke said, her eyes looking over at me with confusion. "It's fine, just give me my medicine and I'll go."

"What do you mean you don't have anything?" I asked, ignoring her medicine question. She must have been watching when the nurse handed it over.

"I don't have any money. I don't have a phone. All of my clothes are at Murphy's. I don't feel good enough to have sex. I don't-"

"Wait a minute, who said anything about sex?" I interrupted, knitting my brows in confusion. Clarke laughed and shook her head.

"If it isn't money or sex that you want, then what is it, Blake?"

"Who said I want anything?"

"You're offering to let me stay with you. You're the only person who came saw me last week. You're being nice to me. _Why_? I have nothing to give," Clarke said, her voice softer. I saw her swallow and loosen her grip on the door handle. She stared over at me, her eyes meeting mine and holding there for a long time.

"Maybe it isn't about taking something," I explained, relocking the door just to be on the safe side. Clarke huffed and rolled her eyes again.

"I don't want to bother you," She said.

"You won't," I assured her, putting the car in drive and pulling back into the road, heading towards my apartment. Clarke said nothing, just sat and stared out the window. I occasionally glanced over at her, checking to make sure she was okay. She didn't move a muscle the entire ride. She just sat, staring. As we pulled up and I parked, she looked over at me, waiting. I turned off the ignition and opened my door. Once Clarke had her door open, I locked them and hurried around to Clarke's side. She stood up using the door for balance once again. I tried to help her, offering her my arm. As always, she declined my help and walked around me. I could tell she was in pain. This was the longest she'd been off IV medication since she got into the hospital. Despite this, she followed me inside and down the hall to the stairs and elevator. Clarke headed toward the stairs and I stopped her.

"No, we're riding the elevator up," I said.

"I am fine," She insisted, putting emphasis on every word. I rolled my eyes and decided to give in. When I was little, my mother used the strategy of letting me learn from my own mistakes. I guess that is was Clarke needed. I led her over the stairs, standing behind her in case she needed help. She took the first few steps slowly, gripping the handrail tight. I heard her take a deep breath before taking three more steps quickly. I saw her go for the next, but I laid a hand on her shoulder, to which she jerked away from. She gasped in response to the pain.

"Take it easy," I said quietly, moving beside her on the steps. Clarke rolled her eyes and continued up the other four steps, but a little slower. Once we reached the top, she stopped, still holding onto the bar. I waited for her to catch her breath before leading her down the hall to my apartment. I unlocked the door and pushed it open for her. She looked around first, before stepping in. I followed her in, shutting the door behind me.

"It's nice," Clarke whispered, looking around. I shrugged, walking past her into the kitchen. I pulled her meds out and sat them on top of the refrigerator. Clarke just stood by the couch, leaning against it for security. "Hey, don't you have to work?"

"I'll call my supervisor, let him know I'm working from home," I said, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water. I sat it on the counter before going into the laundry room and grabbing an extra blanket and pillow, as well as moving a load of laundry through. I was amazed how fast one person could go through clothes. I walked back out to the living room, water bottle, blanket and pillow in hand.

"Oh- I don't need that," Clarke said. I laughed.

"It's not for you," I said, setting it down on the couch. "You can have my bed. It's more comfortable."

"Bellamy, no." Clarke said, straightening up a little.

"I don't mind," I insisted, pausing and looking up at her.

"I said no."

"Clarke-" I sighed, slight annoyance tracing my voice.

"I'm serious, Bellamy! I don't understand! Why are you doing all of this? Why did you stay with me? I never asked you to. I never even wanted you to, really! Do you know how weird it is? You're acting like the abortion never happened! You're acting like we never had a fight, like things never changed," Clarke said, raising her voice out of nowhere. I looked up at her sharply.

"I don't want to talk about that right now!" I said back, my voice slow and stern. With her words came back the memory.

 _"What did you do, Clarke?" I asked, hurt laced in my voice._

 _"I did what I had to do." Clarke said slowly._

 _"You didn't even bother to tell me you were pregnant!"_

 _"It doesn't matter. What's done is done!" She screamed back._

 _"That was my baby, too. You didn't make it all by yourself."_

 _"Bellamy-"_

 _"_ _Get out! Go! I never want to see your face again. Leave, Clarke! Just go!"_

"We have to talk about it, Bellamy. It's the elephant in the room that you keep trying not to look at! Why did you all of a sudden stop hating me?" Clarke asked, her voice lowering a bit.

"I never hated you."

"You sure had me fooled!"

"Well what did you expect, Clarke?!" I yelled, stepping closer to her. "I wasn't even mad about the abortion. I was mad that you were pregnant and didn't think to mention it to me! I was hurt and betrayed-"

"I was protecting you, Bellamy! You couldn't handle that responsibility, neither of us could. We were kids!"

"That doesn't change anything, Clarke! You want to know why I'm trying to help you? Maybe it's because I've moved on! Maybe I want to try and be a decent human being,"

"Those don't exist, Bellamy!"

"Maybe not for drug addicts, but for me they do!"

"I'm not a drug addict!" Clarke screamed back, even louder.

"Then what are you!?"

"Scared! I'm scared, Bellamy."

I stopped, all the anger in my body building. I looked at Clarke, her face flushed, her chest heaving. I clenched and unclenched my fists. Emotions bubbled up inside of me. I couldn't think of an answer. I couldn't think of anything. All I could see was her, standing in front of me. I didn't know whether to scream at her or hug her or kick her out again. So I did what any rational person would do. I leaned down, cupping her face with my hand and I kissed her.

 _Hard_.

 **AN: Thank y'all for reading the third chapter! I apologize again for the length, but I just couldn't find a good place to break it into two separate chapters.**

 **Reviews make my day, and encourage me to write more or update sooner.**

 **Thank-y'all once again.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So, good news! I got a beta reader. I'll be running the chapters through him first, so updates will take longer, but should be at least once weekly.**

 **Clarke**

I had no idea what had just happened. One minute I was screaming at Bellamy, anger coursing through my veins, cheeks flushed and heart pounding. The next minute he was kissing me with such passion, I had no choice but to kiss back. It was quick, but felt like an eternity. Bellamy pulled away hastily, his expression seeming even more confused than mine.

"What was that?" I breathed, my hands grasping the couch for security.

"I, uh, I don't know why we just did that," Bellamy said quietly, pursing his lips and stepping back awkwardly.

"You," I corrected. "Why _you_ just did that."

"You kissed back," He replied, with a mocking tone in his voice. I rolled my eyes as he turned away from me, walking back into the kitchen and glancing out the window. I could tell he was embarrassed, so he quickly tried to change the subject. "Are you hungry?"

"No, but do you have a shower?" I asked, straightening out my hospital gown. "And maybe some clothes?"

"Nope, I don't shower and I run around naked," Bellamy said with a laugh, walking back through the living room towards a hallway. I stood up straight, following him towards a room.

"You're not funny," I said coldly, trying to hide my smile. Bellamy stopped at a door and looked over at me.

"Shut up, I'm very funny," He said as he pushed the door open. As we walked in, he flipped the light switch on. The room was fairly simple. A desk in one corner, a dresser in the other. A queen size bed was centered on the back wall, with grey and black striped patterns on the comforter. The walls were a bare light grey. The bed was unmade, but the rest of the room was fairly neat and organized. Bellamy walked through to the doorway in the corner, into what I assumed was the bathroom. After glancing around once more, I followed him in. I quickly studied over it as well, noting the minor details. My eyes wandered to the sink and I busted out laughing.

"Is that a Star Wars toothbrush?"

"Um, no?" Bellamy defended, stepping in the way of my sight. I looked up at him annoyed and he cracked a small smile, shrugging. I sighed, looking away from him and down at the tile floor. He was close, very close. I felt the hair on the back of my neck raise and I took a deep, uneasy breath. Bellamy smirked as he reached up around me into the cabinet and grabbed a towel and a wash cloth, both mint green in color, as well as a bottle of women's shampoo, conditioner and soap. He sat them on the counter beside the shower. I moved out of his way, raising one eyebrow at the collection of women's toiletries that men typically didn't have just laying around. Bellamy must have picked up on it, as he continued with, "It's Octavia's. She used to stay here a lot. Now, you know not to get the bandage and wound wet, right?"

I nodded, reaching around to untie the back of my hospital gown.

"Are you sure you feel well enough to stand up for that long?" Bellamy asked, his voice softer and more concerned than before. I just shrugged in response, stepping past him towards the shower. He worried too much.

"If you need help, let me know," He said, walking back into his room. "I'll bring you the clothes in a minute."

I turned on the water, waiting for it to heat up. Once Bellamy was out of eyesight, I slipped off the gown and stepped into the stream of warm water, letting it run over my body. I closed the shower curtain quickly, hearing Bellamy's footsteps heading back into the bathroom.

"The clothes are on the counter, too." He said, his voice rising louder than the sound of the water hitting the shower bottom. I waited to hear his receding footsteps, but they never came.

"Are you still out there?" I asked quietly, massaging the apple scented shampoo into my hair and scalp.

"Yes, do you need help?" Bellamy replied.

"I need privacy," I said harshly, sticking my lather covered head out of the shower to see where he was. I saw him against the wall in the far corner, his eyes centered on his phone before he noticed me.

"No, you need to be monitored." He replied, not missing a beat.

I was about to protest when I felt the water hit my back, just beside my shoulder blade. I gasped in response, the hole on my back beginning to sting. I quickly moved back into the shower but kept out of the stream of water, trying to wait out the burning sensation. The quick motion made the wound hurt even more. I heard a groan outside of the curtain.

"You got it wet, didn't you?" Bellamy asked, his voice laced with annoyance. I frowned, feeling guilty. I didn't answer him. Instead, I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and quickly replaced it with conditioner. As I waited for the conditioner to set, I washed the rest of my body, enjoying the warmth the water offered me. Once I had finished rinsing everything, I turned the faucet off and pulled open the shower curtain.

"Whoa, hold on," Bellamy said, turning around quickly. I rolled my eyes, reaching for the towel and drying myself off. The bandage used to cover my wound had lost its adhesiveness, it barely clung to my skin by a single corner. I pulled it off and threw it in the trash.

"It isn't anything you haven't seen before," I pointed out, wrapping my hair up in the mint towel. As I said it, I looked down, remembering that one night. We were both considerably drunk. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, he was a horny college kid. It just sort of happened. If I could go back, I never would've let it happen. I didn't regret the sex necessarily, but rather what the consequences did to us, to me.

"Doesn't mean I need to see it now," Bellamy insisted. He could be so childish at times. I picked up the clothes. They were some of Octavia's old ones, I could tell. I remembered the Beetles shirt from high school, and the sweatpants were much too small to even fit one of Bellamy's legs. Along with the shirt and pants, there was a pair of underwear and a bra, also Octavia's. I laughed quietly. Octavia was much more blessed than I was, but it worked anyway. I quickly put the underwear on, then the sweatpants.

"Bellamy?" I asked quietly.

"Hm?"

"Do you have a band-aid for my shoulder?"

"A band-aid?" Bellamy laughed, turning around. I saw him glance at my shirtless torso and swallow hard. He looked away quickly. "I'll have to bandage it the old fashion way. Sit down."

I did as he said, sitting on the counter. I watched as he dug under his cabinet and pulled out a large first aid kit. It looked as if it had never been opened. Everything was still wrapped and organized, much like the rest of his house. Bellamy pulled out a gauze pad and medical tape, pulling them from their little plastic covers. He reached up, moving my bra strap out of the way. I took a deep breath, preparing for his touch. I felt him lay the gauze on my back, securing it with one hand while he tore off a piece of tape.

"So are you going to tell me why your back looks like a punching bag now?" Bellamy asked nonchalantly, pressing the tape down on my shoulder. I tried to move away from the pain, clenching my jaw. He must have picked up on it, as he released some of the pressure. "Sorry."

"It's fine and it doesn't matter, okay?" I insisted, closing my eyes.

"It matters to me," Bellamy replied, taping down another side of the gauze. "Why is it just your back?"

"It's not," I snapped quickly, regretting my words as soon as they came out. I sighed and shook my head. "Just drop it, Bellamy. Please?"

"He hurts you, doesn't he?" Bellamy asked, moving around to face me, his face becoming more serious than it had been earlier. He looked into my eyes, which resulted in me averting my gaze quickly.

"No, he just… look, our line of work is rough. It isn't always sunshine and rainbows. We do what is necessary to survive," I explained, rubbing the back of my hand to keep my anxiety at bay.

"You mean what is necessary to get your next fix?"

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes and slid off the counter, pulling the shirt over my head gently. The wound began to ache even more that before. I looked up at Bellamy. "Can I have some medicine now?"

Bellamy nodded, seeming to drop the conversation. I followed him back through the bedroom and into the kitchen. He reached above the refrigerator, grabbing the brown paper bag that rattled as he pulled it down. I watched as he pulled two orange pill bottles out of the bag and sat them down on the counter. He gave me a distrusting look before picking one of the bottles back up. I grabbed the other one, searching the label for a name. Penicillin. Just a regular antibiotic. I unscrewed the cap, shaking one of the white oval pills out into my hand. Bellamy gave me a white round pill from the bottle he had. I looked at the label as he sat it down, noticing only the "oxy" part of it. I shrugged, popping them both in my mouth and swallowing them down.

"So, what is your 'line of work', exactly?" Bellamy asked, taking both bottles and tucking them back in the bag. I frowned at his question, not sure of how to answer it. I knew if I told him the truth, he'd never look at me the same way again. He already thought I was a worthless druggy, much less a whore. I took a deep breath and shrugged.

"It's nothing, really," I answered, turning away from him and walking back to the living room. I heard his footsteps behind me and sighed, knowing he probably wasn't going to drop this one.

"You can tell me," He said. I just shook my head in response, sitting down on his brown leather couch. He remained standing at the end, near the armrest, staring at me curiously.

"I don't want to," I replied sternly, looking up at his face. I could see the frown, his brown eyes searching me over. His lips were pressed firmly together, his hair falling in curls around his ears. I half smiled, looking down his body. He was just as handsome as always, but also just as aggravating.

"Why won't you tell me anything?" Bellamy asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. I shrugged, not answering. I heard him sigh with annoyance and felt his eyes piercing my skin.

"Can I call Murphy?" I asked, perking up slightly. I missed him greatly. This was the longest we had been apart since we first started dating. It was late afternoon, so he shouldn't be too busy. I know he would be happy to talk to me. I looked up at Bellamy with hopeful eyes. He didn't change his grim expression. He just grabbed his phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the couch beside me, walking into the kitchen after. I smiled to myself, quickly dialing Murphy's number. It rang three times before he finally answered.

"Hello?" Murphy said, his voice was low and quiet.

"Hey," I breathed with relief.

"Clarke," Murphy asserted. I heard him sigh behind the phone. It didn't sound relieved, but rather frustrated. Maybe he was busy, after all. "Are you still at the hospital?"

"No, no, I'm at a friend's now," I explained, glancing into the kitchen to see Bellamy filling a pot full of water.

"Who?" Murphy questioned, sounding more interested.

"Oh, you don't know-"

"Who?" He demanded, cutting off my sentence. I bit my lip, wincing at his words.

"Octavia's brother, Bellamy," I whispered, looking down at my lap. Octavia and Murphy never really got along well. We were only friends for about a month after Murphy and I started dating. She and Lincoln got engaged, and that's when Lincoln broke the news to her. She hasn't spoke to me since.

"Are you charging him?" Murphy asked, his voice emotionless.

"What?" I asked, confused. "It isn't like that, Murphy. He's just helping me out for a little bit."

"Mhm," He laughed. I could tell he didn't believe me and he was growing annoyed. Despite this, I tried to change the subject.

"When can I come home?"

"When you are healthy enough, Clarke. I can't have you around with the other girls until then. I don't really want you around until then," Murphy said. As he spoke, I felt my stomach drop. I was so ready to get home. Life with Murphy was hard, no doubt. He was pushy and controlling, but he took care of me. I was _his_ girl. The others were just employees. But I was the one he loved. We lived together. We did everything together. I took a deep breath.

"Okay. I can call you then?" I asked, but he had already hung up the phone. I laid Bellamy's phone down beside me, feeling defeated. I turned around to look in the kitchen. Bellamy was standing by the stove, stirring something. I stood up and walked in there. He glanced at me, but said nothing. "Since when can you cook?"

"I can't," Bellamy said, putting the wooden spoon down. "But I can make spaghetti."

"Yum." I said, leaning against the counter. Bellamy nodded, staring down at the pot, still silent. I sighed, looking up at him. "What's wrong?"

"You," He said harshly, maintaining his stare at the pot. I looked at him in confusion, moving back slightly. My heart jumped as he spoke. I knew I shouldn't have come with him. He could be so open one minute, and then completely cold the next. He was always like that, ever since I could remember. He had a hard childhood. He practically raised Octavia. His father left when he was 3, right after Octavia was born. His mother wasn't around much. She lived the same lifestyle I do. Maybe that was why he took care of me. Maybe he saw his mother in me. I watched as he turned off the eye, drained the pasta and turned towards me. "I'm sorry. But you have to start talking, Clarke. I'm trying really, really hard to help you here. I don't know how to help you if I don't know anything about you."

"I know," I admitted, moving out of his way as he grabbed the sauce jar. "But you'll never look at me the same if I told you everything."

"Probably not," Bellamy said, mixing the meat and sauce. "But you aren't the same. You've changed, that's inevitable. I'm not going to judge you for what you've done, though. I'm no angel myself."

"Really," I said, laughing. "I find that hard to believe."

"How?"

"Look around. You live in a very nice flat, you have food, TV, a sports car. You went to college and you have this perfect little job in a perfect little office. What wrong could you possibly have done?" I pointed out, a little annoyed.

"You're right. I made a life for myself. I worked hard to get where I am. That doesn't mean I haven't made bad choices, though. Even before we… did what we did , I made bad choices," Bellamy explained, pulling two plates out of the cupboard and fixing himself one. I followed his lead.

"So what? You smoked some pot and got drunk. You were a teenager, Bellamy. That's normal," I insisted, following him to the table and sitting across from him.

"You just don't understand."

After dinner, Bellamy sat in the living room, doing work, I suppose. I sat in the chair across the room and watched reruns of House. We hadn't really spoken to each other since before dinner. I yawned, looking across the room at the clock. It was only seven, but I was exhausted.

"I'm tired," I said to Bellamy. He looked up, placing the laptop on the coffee table.

"Do you want to take your medicine and go to bed?" He asked. I nodded, standing up. We walked into the kitchen, where he gave me another pain pill, with a bottle of water this time. I swallowed the pill, then followed him to the bedroom, which he insisted I slept in. I would've been fine sleeping on the couch, but Bellamy was too much of a gentleman to allow that. He flipped on the light and placed the bottle of water beside the bed on the stand.

"If you need me, let me know," He said, before shutting the door. I heard his footsteps recede, before I flipped the light off. I walked over and sat on the bed, stripping the sweatpants off as I did. Sleeping with pants was brutally uncomfortable for me, always had been. I slipped under the blankets and laid my head down, thankful for a warm, roomy bed compared to the hospital beds I had become accustomed to. Even back at home, Murphy and I shared a futon. This big, queen size bed was a luxury I didn't deserve. I quickly fell asleep to my own musings.

But sleep never was easy for me. I had dreams, nightmares. I screamed, kicked, fought my way through the torture that my own sadistic mind played. They weren't rare. I always thought it was the drugs before, but maybe I'm just messed up. I was quickly awakened from my sleep, in the middle of a vision of some doctor cutting me open without anesthesia.

"Clarke?!"

I shook my head, my heart pounding, tears in my eyes. I was still out of it, and I had no idea what was going on. The room was dark. I sat up quickly, regretting the movement. My back felt as if it was being stabbed. I gasped with pain, trying to breathe through the lump in my throat. I felt a hand on my back and a body slip beside me.

"Hey, it's okay, it was just a dream," A deep voice soothed, rubbing my back and pulling me closer. I normally would fight physical contact, but this time I didn't. I went with the pull of a hand, lying my head on a chest, wiping away tears and coughing. I closed my eyes, my body shaking. He continued rubbing my back, his warm breath tousling my hair gently. I felt myself relax for a moment.

And for the first time in a very long time, I felt safe. Truly safe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Bellamy**

"Bell? Hey Bellamy!"

I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to wipe the sleep from them as the loud feminine voice awoke me. I started to raise up when I noticed the heavy weight bearing down on my chest. Clarke. She was still asleep, her blonde hair falling delicately around her face, her breathing even and rhythmic. I smiled slightly, forgetting about the girl who I knew was making her way back through the apartment. I'd seen Clarke sleep, several times in fact, but there was just something different about having her cling to my bare chest, so still and peaceful.

"Bell?" Octavia rounded the corner, streaming into my bedroom. I immediately sat up as the little girl with dark brown hair stopped dead in her tracks. Her face was twisted in a look of confusion, which then morphed into anger. "What is she doing here?" Octavia hissed between her teeth. By this time, Clarke had stirred. She sat up next to me, rubbing her eyes.

"O, just listen. This isn't… it's not what it looks like," I defended, jerking the blankets over me and rising to my feet. Octavia just shook her head and laughed, but not in a funny way. She stepped closer, her eyes piercing through me. She was so little, but she was fierce. Standing 5 foot 4 she scared me more so than any other person I could think of.

"Really? Are you sure this isn't what it looks like? Because to me it looks like you lied. It looks like you broke your promise to me. Looks like your banging the one girl I specifically asked you not to," Octavia hissed. By this point Clarke has stumbled out of bed, standing awkwardly in the corner, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Tavia, nothing happened. We didn't…" Clarke spoke up but then her words trailed off quietly as O turned her way.

"Oh really? It sure doesn't look that way," Octavia said, gesturing to Clarke's legs. I glanced over, realizing for the first time that her bottom half was bare, with the exception of a tiny pair of underwear. I took a deep breath, feeling my body heat up and chills spindling down my spine at the sight. Octavia quickly drew my attention away, turning towards me. "To me, it looks like you blatantly lied _and_ broke your promise."

I looked away, trying to think of something to make her calm down, but I knew it was useless. Octavia was right, and I felt awful. I should have never brought Clarke home, but I couldn't just leave her, not like last time.

"I didn't have anywhere to go," Clarke said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. I glanced over as she tugged a pair of sweatpants on, tying the drawstring. Her face crinkled in a wince at her movements, reminding me she needed to take her medicine.

"I don't care," Octavia hissed through her teeth. "Sleep in the streets like the druggie scum you are."

"Octavia!" I snapped, shocked by her words. Octavia could be sassy, but she was never just mean. "What is your problem?"

"I just don't like the fact that you're letting this stupid slut live with you, after what she did to you! Bellamy, she lied to you! She broke your heart over a baby that wasn't even yours, and you're just going to invite her back in!" Octavia screamed. I felt my heart jump, the blood rushing from my head.

"What did you just say?" I asked, my voice calm and even. Octavia's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. She tilted her head to look at Clarke, whose eyes were averted down.

"Little whore didn't tell you, did she?" Octavia said with a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Go on Clarke, explain to Bellamy how much you like sleeping around with other girls boyfriends, more specifically your best friends boyfriend."

My mouth was dry. The same rush of emotions that I felt when I first found Clarke came pulsing back, even stronger than before. I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath, waiting for Clarke to tell me it wasn't true. Waiting for her to tell Octavia she was mistaken. But she never did. Clarke looked up at me, tears welling in the corner of her eyes. She shook her head, biting her lip slightly before whispering, "I'm sorry."

I snapped. My heart began rapidly pounding, my hands shaking with anger. I didn't know what to do. My head was light, my vision blurry. I was so over it, until I wasn't. Time after time, she lied. She betrayed me. It took everything in me to look up at her.

And then all of the surging, bursting anger melted. I felt my body relax, the tension in my muscles drain away. Clarke stood in the corner, looking very small. She was chewing on her lip, she somehow looked so old, but yet so young and child-like. She was a wreck. She may never admit it, but I could see it. Clarke Griffin. Five years ago, she was the strongest person I knew. Now, all I saw was a tiny sliver of the person who she used to be. She was crumpled, weak, hopeless. Her eyes had lost their shine and her smile it's shimmer. I couldn't stay mad at her. I was still angry, no doubt. I spent the last five years of my life mulling over something that wasn't even my own to begin with. I lost Clarke, my happiness, over something that could have been solved so easily.

"I should just go," I heard Clarke say, her voice shaky. I longed to comfort her, to hold her like last night. Another part of me knew that was foolish. Clarke had changed so magnificently, I didn't even know her anymore. It wasn't her I wanted to hold, but a memory. Still, I refused to be the bad guy.

"No one is asking you to do that," I replied, my voice calmer and softer this time.

"Yes, they are," Octavia said sternly, turning to face me, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. "Aren't they, Bellamy?"

"No, Octavia, they aren't," I replied, stepping around the bed in between Octavia and Clarke. I glanced at both of them. "Clarke has no where to go. This isn't your house, O, it's mine. If I say she can stay, then she can stay. I'm not kicking her out on the streets for something that happened five years ago." I turned as Clarke took in a sharp breath, her eyes squinted slightly in what appeared to be confusion. I forced myself to give a quick, reassuring smile to her before Octavia spoke up again.

"I can't believe you're picking her over me," She retorted, shaking her head and pursing her lips.

"I'm not picking her over you, O. I'm just not going to hold someone's past again them. She needs help. If you can't grow up and get over your selfishness, it's not my problem. Or hers." I tried to keep my calm. To be honest, every word Octavia said hurt. I was so used to my little sister getting her way. Since I could remember, Octavia came first. What Octavia said, went. I can count on one hand how many times I've went against her wishes. To do so now was killing me, but I knew it was the right thing. She'd get over it eventually.

"I'm going home." Octavia turned to leave.

"Wait," I said, grabbing her arm and stopping her. "What did you need?"

"My brother. Not whoever this is," Octavia hissed, jerking her arm out of my hand and slamming the door behind her. I stood there in shock a moment, trying not to let her words cut too deep. I turned, feeling a soft touch on my bare arm. Clarke stood behind me, her face paler than before. Her eyes were shiny, as if tears were about to form. Her lips moved slightly, mouthing "thank you". I just nodded, stepping back from her. I hadn't forgot what had happened. I couldn't just give into her without answers, and I couldn't get answers without keeping her healthy. I grabbed a shirt out of my dresser, tugging it on over my head as I strode into the kitchen, grabbing Clarke's meds and a bottle of water. Clarke had followed me silently. I tossed the items next to her on the counter, avoiding eye contact. Clarke took the pills, slipping an extra oxy. I pretended not to notice. It wasn't a battle worth fighting.

"I can still leave if you want me to," Clarke said, breaking the awkward silence. I just shook my head, staring out the kitchen window. I wanted to talk, but I was afraid of the words that would arise from my mouth. Clarke waited a few seconds before pushing on. "I never meant for you to get hurt." To that I just shrugged. I could tell Clarke was growing impatient. She began shifting her weight from one foot to the other, nervously. I remained staring outside, not moving a muscle. A few moments of silence passed, but was quickly interrupted. "What do you want me to say?!"

"I want you to explain." Although I intended for my words to come out a little more stern, it sounded more like a plea. I finally looked over to meet Clarke's eyes. She nodded slowly, about to speak when I walked past her and sat on the couch. "We have a lot to talk about. Sit." Clarke did as I said, sitting on the other side, turning towards me. I noticed her flinched, making me feel bad once again. The medicine hadn't had enough time to fully kick in, and even so she had to be sore. The pained expression left her face quickly, but was replaced with something different, something I couldn't quite read. She took a deep breath, obviously waiting for me to give a signal. So I opted for my usual bluntness. "Go ahead."

"What all do you want to know?" Clarke asked, her eyes locked on the floor. I just shrugged in response.

"Everything. Why didn't you just tell me the truth? If not mine, who was it? _Lincoln's_?" I asked, trying to keep the anger from rising in me again. I still couldn't quite comprehend it. Clarke was so good back then, and Lincoln never struck me as the cheating type. I wanted to call him out on it. True, it'd been years, but cheating on my sister? Heck no. It's obvious Octavia was still hurt by it. Therefore, I wanted to hurt him for it.

"They weren't technically together, then. They had taken a break," Clarke said. Her confirmation only made the emotions stronger. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. It just happened. It was a one-time mistake. It meant nothing. Octavia was never supposed to know. _You_ were never supposed to know."

"But why didn't you just tell me it wasn't mine? _Everything_ could've been avoided, do you realize that?" All of these years, mulling over it, wishing things would have been different, it was all for nothing.

"No," Clarke said, shaking her head. "It couldn't have. Bellamy, I didn't want you to think bad of me. Three men in less than a month? I was sixteen. And more than that, I knew that if you found out you would have told Octavia. I didn't want to hurt her. She was my best friend, I couldn't lose both of you."

What she said made sense, in some sort of wacked up way. I definitely would have told Octavia. Maybe not then, but once she and Lincoln got back together, she would've known. _If_ Lincoln survived long enough to mend things. I still wanted to punch him now, back then there is no doubt I would have. Hurting my sister, for one thing. Sleeping with the girl he knew I was into for another. I glanced over at Clarke for a moment. She sat still, obviously waiting for me to reply. I kept rethinking it, trying to come up with something or rationalize how I felt. I didn't feel necessarily betrayed as I had before, but I was still angry. Angry that Clarke never told me. That she let me go years thinking about it, trying to rationalize and sort through it. It didn't take me very long to get over it, but occasionally the memory creeped its way back in. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, I finally began speaking again. "When did Octavia find out?"

"About two years ago," Clarke answered. It made sense. Lincoln and her had split up again as she started college. I had always assumed it was because of them growing apart. Eventually, they found their way back to each other. I guess when you're meant to be, you always come back home. Clarke crossed her legs, fiddling with the drawstring on her pants. "She hasn't really spoken to me since. I can't say I blame her, really. I had already started using, then. It was probably best she got out of there."

"Do you wish you would have?" I asked quietly. Clarke glanced up at me, taken aback by the question. She just shrugged.

"Sometimes. But then I think of Murphy, all he's done for me. It's worth it, this life. He loves me," Clarke spoke slowly. The way she formed her words, I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince me or convince herself. I looked up at her.

"You love him?" I asked, meeting her eye and locking my gaze there.

"Of course," She nodded. "So much."

I nodded, breaking our eye contact for a moment before slowly reaching up and brushing my thumb over the corner of her eye, where the previous bruises had now shrunk to a slight yellow tint. As I did so, the visions of her welped back flashed into my mind. Clarke shrunk away from my touch, turning her head. She'd never admit it, but she was easy to read. I wondered how many times his hand was so gentle. I sighed, letting my hand drop back to my side. "Maybe you should love him a little less, and love yourself a whole lot more."

Clarke nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. I noticed the chill bumps running down her arms, making the tiny blonde hairs raise. I stood up, grabbing a throw from the chair and draping it over her. She said nothing, but coiled it around herself tight. I half smiled, taking my previous position. For a long time, we sat in silence. My mind sorted through what I had just heard, my heart skipping emotions faster than I had experienced in a very long time. It was so hard to be mad at her, but it was so hard to love her.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Clarke said, her voice splitting the silence.

"I told you. I'm just trying-"

"That's not the reason. I'm not stupid. It's not just because you want to be nice. So why?" Clarke said, interrupting me. She was right, that wasn't truly the reason. In all honesty, I debated over why I was helping her several times. It wasn't until Octavia pointed it out that I truly understood why I was doing what I was.

"My mom," I answered quietly. "She was a meth head." I paused again, searching Clarke's face. She nodded slowly, taking in what I said. "But you already knew that. I just- I see her in you. She doesn't let me help her. She's been an addict for over twenty years. I had to watch drugs destroy our family. I had to sleep in Octavia's room every night because she was scared mom's boyfriends were going to-" I paused again, searching for the right words. "Hurt her. I went so many days without eating. By the time I was 13 I had to learn to take a grown man because they were so high they'd almost kill my mom in fits of rage. I watched as my mom started caring about getting her next fix more than caring about her own kids, about her own life. I don't want to see that happen to you, Clarke. You're so much better than that. And if I can stop just one person from living the life I did, then my childhood was worth it." I looked up just in time to see Clarke rest her mouth on her hand, her eyes turning red with tears that threatened to fall.

"It's so hard, Bellamy," Clarke said, her voice breaking. "I never meant to get so deep. I'm sorry, but you don't understand. I need it. I need it like I need Murphy. I need it like I need to breathe." I shook my head, trying to think of something to make her change her mind.

"Clarke?" I finally said, scooting closer to her.

"Yeah?"

"How does it feel?" I asked, reaching around and barely brushing the hole on her back. I felt her flinch away, and saw her pain expression.

"It hurts," She answered simply. I nodded, moving my hand to her upper arm. I could feel her tense to move, but she finally relaxed, looking me dead in the eye. I let my hand venture down her arm slowly, before reaching her hand. I gave it a tight squeeze before sitting back against the couch and breaking our contact.

"Now," I said, meeting her gaze once again. "How does it feel to be touched, knowing I'm not going to hurt you?"

She didn't have time to respond. The minute the last word left my mouth, Clarke busted into tears, her body shaking. I breathed a sigh of relief, letting myself hope that maybe I got through to her. I gently pulled her close, and smiled slightly as she rested her head against my chest.

Maybe she wasn't such a lost cause after all.

 **A/N: This has been crossposted to AO3. This version is the unedited, raw. The one on AO3 will be the edited. This will be updated sooner, but AO3 will be better quality.**

 **As always, comments/constructive criticism is genuinely appreciated.**


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